<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>I've Never So Adored You: A Drabble Collection by objectlesson</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578624">I've Never So Adored You: A Drabble Collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson'>objectlesson</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ficlet Collection, M/M, Pining, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:08:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short Merlin fics written on tumblr. Check the authors notes of each for tags!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hiii you all know I do one of these for every one of my big fandoms ;) Enjoy! The first one is just fluff, cuddling, and bed sharing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The birds wake Merlin at dawn, circling outside and chirruping in a chorus. They sound different up here in Arthur’s quarters than they do from where he usually sleeps, and it takes him a few seconds to adjust and remember where he is, until he shifts and feels the solidity of Arthur’s body behind him, sleep-heavy, rhythmically rising and falling with snores. He has a possessive arm looped around Merlin’s waist holding him in place, and Merlin just lies there beneath the weight of it for a few moments with his eyes closed and a boundless, ecstatic smile on his lips. </p>
<p>It takes him <em>entirely</em> too long to work up the energy to leave this warm bed and the man in it. He’s ensnared in a mess of memories from the night before, most of them too-hot to touch without twisting deep in his gut, making him shudder and lock up in a wreck longing and disbelief. Arthur <em>wants</em> him. His body is a testament to this fact, a map of scratches and suck-marks and frantic, open-mouthed kisses still held fast in the cage of Arthur’s arms. It’s hard to <em>leave</em> something so wonderful, but Merlin knows he cannot trick himself into thinking what happened last night changes that he is, first and foremost, Arthur’s servant. So he eventually makes himself disentangle from the sheets and wiggle out from under Arthur’s arm. </p>
<p>The second his feet hit the cold floor, Arthur grumbles awake. “Where do you think <em>you’re</em> going?” he asks, trying to grab Merlin and failing, fingers clumsily bumping against his bare spine in the pantomime of clutching instead. Merlin twists around to look at him: his sleep-rumpled hair, his bleary eyes, the pillow crease through his cheek. His stomach drops at the sight, for he has never loved anyone or anything quite so much as he loves Arthur Pendragon. </p>
<p>“<em>My</em> work day starts hours before yours, did forget?” he asks, lifting his brows. </p>
<p>Arthur frowns. “I had no <em>idea</em>, my breakfast often tastes like you threw it together on your way up the stairs,” he mumbles, shifting closer and hooking his arm around Merlin’s waist again, trapping him. “Come here. You’re letting cold air in.” </p>
<p>Powerless against the demands of a prince, Merlin melts into Arthur and lets himself be manhandled back into bed. Arthur kisses his shoulder, the nape of his neck, the secret place behind his ear, rubbing his face into the morning-warmth of his skin with such entitled certainty it almost chokes Merlin up. “This is far preferable to your breakfasts” Arthur says, nipping at his pulse point, pushing one leg between Merlin’s so that they are tangled together. “Maybe I should look into hiring another servant. Just for the morning duties.” </p>
<p>“You don't think your father would find that suspicious?” Merlin mumbles, shifting against Arthur, loving every place they fit together so easily, as if by design. </p>
<p>“I complain about how lazy and incompetent you are enough that I think he might even approve,” Arthur jokes with a smirk before his mouth softens to kiss, warm and lingering against the cords of Merlin’s neck. </p>
<p>“Really though, is it <em>necessary</em> you do anything this morning?” </p>
<p>“If you want clean clothes to wear today, then yes.” </p>
<p>Arthur snorts. “I’ll take my chances,” he says. Then he opens a palm over Merlin’s chest rubbing idly there, then up and down from his navel to his sternum. It makes Merlin’s eyes heavy, makes him feel safe and contained and floaty. “I could <em>order</em> you to stay.” </p>
<p>“I’ll stay,” Merlin murmurs with a yawn. “If that’s what you want, sire.” </p>
<p>He feels Arthur smile against the back of his neck. “Good. Now go back to sleep. I cannot <em>believe</em> I’m up at this hour for no reason at all.”And so Merlin closes his eyes, settles into the bed, and lets himself drift back into darkness, as the bird’s song fades into the ether. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags: vampires, pre-slash, tension, pining, Merlin as a trusted counselor, the knights &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur’s plan, if one can even <em>call it that, </em>is to just crawl into the mouth of the cave and slay as many sleeping vampires as possible, theoretically before they wake up and start fighting back. </p>
<p>Pervical is ready, sword out. Gwaine, at his side as usual, looks downright <em>thrilled</em> about the vampire killing business, smirking in anticipation. Leon does <em>not</em> look thrilled, but he would never say anything about it to Arthur. Elyan is the only one chewing his lip like he’s considering speaking up, and so Merlin decides to appeal to him as they approach, gently elbowing his side. “I don’t like this,” he mumbles. “Arthur’s too arrogant, moving too quickly. He doesn't know how to kill these things and he seems to forget they can fly and smell us and whatnot.” </p>
<p>Elyan sighs, seemingly relieved at least <em>someone</em> isn’t on board with just waltzing up to the undead, swords brandished. Even if that someone is Merlin, who hardly matters. </p>
<p>“There could be hundreds of them in there,” he hisses. “We don’t know.” </p>
<p>Merlin nods. “I think you should say something to Arthur. Propose that we return to Camelot and do more research. We weren’t even <em>planning</em> on finding the nest today, after all, we have no plan.” </p>
<p>Elyan’s eyes get wide. “Me?!” He whispers fiercely. “Merlin. <em>You’re </em>the only one he listens to. <em>You</em> should say something.” </p>
<p>Merlin snorts, insides suddenly gathering up in a pit of tight heat. The thing is, Arthur <em>does</em> listen to him, eventually. But he always resists, especially in front of the knights. He seeks Merlin’s council only in secret, in his bedroom, when the drapes are drawn and there is no one else to witness him. Or else in his darkest, most vulnerable moments, when he is desperate.  When there are petty, violent things to do like vampire nests to be dealt with, he forgets <em>entirely. </em>Merlin’s opinions on such matters are not valued in the least. “Arthur does <em>not</em>listen to me,” he counters. </p>
<p>He says it loud enough Arthur hears, rounding on them with his arms crossed. “Merlin, Elyan. Do you have <em>something </em>to sharewith the rest of the class or are you just planning on waking the vampires <em>before</em> we begin to kill them?” he snaps. </p>
<p>Elyan shoots a helpless look at Merlin, who sighs, realizing he’s left with no fucking choice but to be the one to broach the subject of their abysmal survival likelihood.  “Not to be dramatic, but I think we’re all going to die,” he announces, committing wholeheartedly to the truth since Arthur is going to tell him to shut up, no matter how much he sugar coats his opinion. “They’re <em>undead. </em>We’ve never had any luck killing undead things with average means. We need—“ he falters, knowing full well what they <em>really </em>need is a sword forged in Dragon’s breath, and also knowing  the closest one of those is jammed into a rock nowhere nearby, and also <em>also </em>knowing that Arthur does not and cannot know about that particular sword at the moment<em> anyway. </em>“A plan,” he settles on brightly. “A better one.” </p>
<p>Shockingly, Arthur sighs and sheaths his sword. “We don’t have <em>time,” </em>he says. “They’re sucking Camelot dry, several victims every night. We’ve already lost <em>enough </em>people.” </p>
<p>“Sire. Forgive me, but— I’m not certain just blindly killing however many you can will <em>help</em> the citizens of Camelot. If we only pick off two before we retreat, there could be more who come to the citadel in revenge. Right now, they’re hunting for food, but we run the risk of prompting vengeance killings.” </p>
<p> “The cave is enormous, it could hold a dozen, <em>two</em> dozen vampires,” Elyan offers,  slapping a hand down on Merlin’s shoulder encouragingly. “Killing a handful for the glory and satisfaction will not matter if we incite <em>war.” </em></p>
<p>Arthur shakes his head, sucking his teeth for a few moments in contemplation before waving an arm to call off the other knights. Gwaine only pouts a little. “You’re right,” he mumbles. “We’ll camp tonight, spy and see if we can get a headcount for how many the nest holds. Then we ride for Camelot tomorrow for more men if necessary.” </p>
<p>Merlin’s body sags in sudden, powerful relief. Arthur walks towards Elyan, squeezes his shoulder, and his gaze flicks up to hold Merlin’s for a moment before dropping abruptly. It is not until nightfall, when they are alone on a patrol, that he speaks to him again. “Thank you,” me murmurs, brushing his fingers so swiftly against Merlin’s wrist it’s almost as if it never happened at all. Merlin would not be sure, if his heart wasn’t pounding in response. “I sometimes forget that a recon mission can simply <em>be</em> that. When I was carrying out orders for my father—there was always the implication, kill if you <em>can</em> kill. He thought I was passing up an opportunity if I hesitated, if I didn’t—do all I could, even if it was foolish. And I<em> knew</em> it was foolish. I knew when I was king I did not want to be as rash as he was. And yet…” he trails off, gaze heavy and eyes flashing. Merlin studies the slope of his brow in the dark, thinking about how even his <em>profile</em> has matured since he became king. Something about it is more tense, more stately. Merlin longs to rub his thumb over the knit muscles between his eyes, and smooth them back to something soft, even though that is the opposite of his supposed destiny. </p>
<p>“You’re trying your hardest. Old habits are hard to break, I understand, but—you are your own man. And I am here to remind you of that,” Merlin tells him. </p>
<p>Arthur pauses mid-step, boot snapping a twig as he turns to Merlin, trapping him against the trunk of a vast tree, so close Merlin can see the chapped lines through his lips, the glisten of wetness on his eyes. “Merlin,” he says, swallowing thickly, gaze raking over Merlin’s face with so much purpose it makes his stomach lurch, silly and wild with hope, tripping like a new fawn in spring. “I know I don’t tell you so—not often enough, anyway, but. I am truly grateful when you stop me from acting as he did.” </p>
<p>He tears his haze away then, and casts it up to the moon, throat bobbing as he swallows. Merlin stares at the jut go his Adam’s apple, stricken as manages to choke out, “you’re welcome. It’s just that. Just that I <em>see</em> the man you are, more clearly than even you do sometimes, and I know that he is good, and just, and I will not let you forget him.” </p>
<p>Arthur shifts, and the air changes, chill rushing back down between their bodies and it is only then, in his absence, that Merlin realizes how very close Arthur was standing. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags: Arthur POV, pining, wrestling, play fighting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur truly cannot stand the way Merlin eats. Sucks his soup down with such vigor he’s worried he might choke, spooning it past his troublesome lips rapid-fire so Arthur has no choice but to stare at them, gold-red in the light of the fire. If Merlin ate like a civilized person, then <em>perhaps</em> Arthur could better adhere to his solemn vow to <em>stop</em> looking at those lips and fantasizing about biting them hard enough to draw blood.</p><p> “Merlin. That’s disgusting. I promise that stew is not<em> going</em> anywhere, the chicken in it is <em>dead,”</em> he snaps. </p><p>Merlin looks up, glaring haughtily, his eyes flashing. “Maybe if you let <em>me</em> eat before I untacked and fed the horses, you would not be subjected to such vile manners,” he offers.</p><p>Arthur stares at him, thinking about the way he says <em>let me eat</em> as if Merlin does not do whatever he wants in exactly the order he wants to do it in regardless of orders. As if Arthur ever <em>really </em>tells him what to do. As if Arthur <em>actually</em> possesses power over him, and not just the weak joke of it. </p><p>There’s a bit of stew clinging to Merlin’s pink, peaked upper lip, and Arthur regards it for a moment before the urge is too compelling and he crumbles to its sway. He lunges forward, tackles Merlin to the ground, and wipes it off with his sleeve. </p><p>Merlin’s lips are so soft under his hand, so he keeps touching. Testing the give of them, rubbing fiercely until Merlin’s mouth opens, gasping, and quite suddenly everything is <em>wet</em> beneath Arthur’s palm and he’s not certain he can survive that, so he pulls away, panting. “Can you at <em>least</em> not get it all over your face?” he asks, raking his gaze deliberately back to the fire. </p><p>Merlin shoots him a look, crystalline and pointed, like he <em>knows. “</em>I dunno, I rather like watching you lose your mind,” he says casually. </p><p>Arthur feels himself flush, so he kicks Merlin’s shin. “I do not lose anything, what are you talking about.” </p><p>Merlin snorts. “Never mind,” he murmurs, and rescues his bowl of stew so he can finish what remains of it. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags: Arthur POV, established relationship, fluff.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mid sentence, Arthur’s face goes blank, and it becomes immediately clear he’s no longer listening to a word Merlin is saying. Merlin frowns, quirking up a brow and snapping his fingers between them. “Hello. Arthur. Border negotiation with Essetir. We were discussing.” </p><p>“Sorry,” he says, though he does not sound sorry at all. He tears his gaze to the window for a second before shaking his head, turning back, and reaching for Merlin to cup his face between his palms and <em>rub it vigorously </em>as if Merlin is a dog. </p><p>He sputters, trying to get away, but Arthur is not having it. He drags his thumbs none too gently up and down Merlin’s cheeks, baring his teeth like it <em>hurts</em> <em>him, </em>and not Merlin, to squeeze him this tightly. ”What are you doing!?” Merlin hisses. </p><p>“My <em>god. </em>How the fuck do you <em>look</em> like that. I just. Sometimes I can’t stand it,”Arthur admits before letting Merlin go in favor of grabbing  his collar and dragging him in to kiss instead. </p><p>Merlin doesn't even get a chance to kiss back before Arthur shoves him off to study again. He’s <em>reeling, </em>so very behind. “Look like what?! Is there something on my face?” he asks, tentatively brushing over his cheeks with his fingers. </p><p>“No, your face is just your face,” Arthur explains, studying him with twinkling eyes until Merlin flushes, squirming beneath the weight of his scrutiny. “It’s impossible. It inspires violence. And for <em>years</em> I've had to quell the desire lest I give myself away, but since you’re mine now I suppose I can bite you as much as I want to.” </p><p>And then he does just that, hauling Merlin back in to open his mouth and dig his teeth into the jut of his cheekbone before sweeping his tongue over it. “You‘re very distracting,” he grits out. </p><p>Merlin does not think this is fair, since he is presented with equally tempting challenges every day, like Arthur’s <em>mouth</em> and Arthur’s <em>ass</em> and Arthur’s stupid lovely golden throat, which is always tauntingly visible through the laces of his tunics, and <em>he never </em>gets sidetracked enough mid sentence to lick <em>him. “</em>Arthur I fear you suffer from deplorable self control,” he scolds, even as he softens in his arms.</p><p>“Perhaps,” Arthur says, growling into the corner of his lips before nipping at them. “But I have much wasted time to make up for, so, I must pray you will forgive me.” </p><p>And Merlin loves him very much, so he does. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags: pining, intricate rituals, repressed Arthur, Merlin POV</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Upon riding in from a successful jousting practice, Arthur reaches down from the saddle and hits Merlin’s hand so fucking hard the resounding smack sings up his arm, palm burning. It is supposed to be some self-congratulatory gesture, but it feels like more than that, the way things <em>often</em> feel like more where Arthur Pendragon is concerned.  “Ow,” Merlin says, trying to pull away even as Arthur holds him fast, linking their fingers and studying his face to drink in every little moment of his reaction. This is something Arthur <em>does, </em>all the time but especially lately: hurts Merlin, just a little, and then studies him hyper-attentively with blown pupils and flushed cheeks, like he did it <em>just</em> to see Merlin wince and snap and twist like a twig in the wind. It’s perplexing, mostly because Merlin is fairly certain Arthur has no idea he’s doing it at all. </p><p>In a flash of defiance, he decides to bring it up. “Why do you do that?” he asks, digging his nails into Arthur’s palm, as hard as he can and cocking his head at the way Arthur falters, gaze flashing. </p><p>“Do <em>what?” </em>Arthur snaps, wrenching his hand back.</p><p>“Hurt me,” Merlin fires back. </p><p>Something dark eclipses over Arthur’s gaze, something like panic. So maybe he <em>does</em> know. “I don’t <em>hurt</em> you intentionally, you’re just a delicate little flower,” he counters. </p><p>Merlin rolls his eyes, and helps Arthur dismount. “S’more than that. It’s like--like hanging around <em>exclusively </em>with other knights has led you to believe the only way to touch someone is by smacking them or punching them or hitting them with a sword. Doesn't have to be like that,” he offers with a shrug. “Just saying.”</p><p>Arthur makes a face. “What, do you want to hold <em>hands</em> or something?” he asks incredulously. “Embrace? braid each other’s hair? It’s just not--whatever you’re thinking, it’s simply not done, Merlin.” </p><p>And as Merlin unlatches Arthur’s gauntlets and removes them carefully, he thinks that it’s quite interesting that even in shooting the suggestion down, Arthur did not <em>deny</em> anything, not really. He brushes his thumb over Arthur’s bare palm experimentally as he tugs at his sleeves, just to test. Arthur does not pull away, but he <em>does</em> waver a bit, hand twitching. “Stop,” he says firmly, before tossing a nervous glance over his shoulder. </p><p>Merlin purses his lips, and wonders. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags: drinking, drunk almost-sex, cuddling, banter, established relationship, future fic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Merlin is drunk and cannot stop squirming, stifling laughter as Arthur tries to kiss his way down his body. It’s <em>impossible</em>, though: his stubble tickles and the alcohol has made Merlin dizzy and stolen his guards, so he cannot do anything but loll around thrashing under Arthur’s lovely (and increasingly frustrated) mouth. “Will you quit?!” Arthur asks, biting a nipple. </p><p>That just makes Merlin laugh harder. “M’sorry! You look so stupid when you're trying to be sexy.” </p><p>Arthur’s wine-stained mouth falls open and he makes a wordless, affronted sound as he sits up, hair a mess. “Are you saying I’m not <em>sexy?!” </em></p><p><em>“No! </em>No if course not, you’re dreadfully sexy. Annoyingly sexy. S’not that, it’s just when you like. When you <em>try. </em>You’re all serious.” </p><p>Arthur frowns self consciously, and it sort of breaks Merlin’s heart to know he <em>actually</em> thinks there’s literally anything to be insecure about, where this is concerned. As if Merlin is anything other than <em>madly</em> in love with him. “Oh, stop, don’t pout. Come here.” </p><p>Reluctantly, Arthur lays down on top of him, crushing the air from his lungs. “M’too tipsy to even get hard, I should just give up tonight,” Arthur mumbles against Merlin’s bony chest. </p><p>“Lucky for you, I don’t mind just doing this,” Merlin reminds him, carding fingers through his soft, floppy blonde hair and kissing his sweat-tacky brow. “Love you every way.” </p><p>“Because you’re a gigantic girl,” Arthur fires back.</p><p>“That’s not what you say when you’re <em>begging</em> to come on my cock,” Merlin tells him, grinning cheekily up at the ceiling. </p><p>“Shh. You’re not supposed to talk about that stuff,” Arthur says, reaching up and covering Merlin’s mouth with his hand. It’s clumsy and warm and it smells like Merlin, because <em>before</em> they gave up on sex, Arthur had been groping around in his trousers. Merlin licks his palm sloppily. </p><p>“Ugh!” Arthur yelps, reeling back. “Gross. Throwing you in the stocks for that.” </p><p>“Ooh, <em>that’s </em>a hollow threat if I ever heard one, love. You haven't thrown me in the stocks in <em>years</em> no matter how badly I fuck up, because you simply cannot stand to be away from me for more than an hour before you fall apart,” he announces smugly, making a fist in Arthur’s tunic and dragging him back into his arms. “Plus, m’not your servant anymore. M’your court sorcerer. It would not look very promising for the future of Albion if you were caught punishing sorcery again,” he jokes. </p><p>Arthur only struggles a bit, before melting into Merlin’s arms, heavy and wine-sweet. </p><p>“Maybe,” Arthur concedes, and Merlin feels him smile against his sternum. Then, because try as he might to pretend he doesn’t listen to Merlin, he actually remembers everything he says, stores away each  sentence to mull over later. Even the drunk, silly ones. “I love you every way, too, you know,” he says, looking up with bleary blue eyes, boyish in this moment even though years serving as king have darkened them. </p><p>Merlin kisses him. “Oh, I know.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags: Arthur POV, established relationship, romance, fluff, clumsy Merlin</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Merlin is <em>always</em> tripping, so Arthur should probably get over it, but it sends his heart leaping into his throat every fucking time regardless. This particular incident, he catches the toe of his boot on a little stump half hidden in dead leaves as they stalk a stag, and immediately face-plants on to the forest floor with a muted <em>oomph. </em></p><p>The stag goes tearing off in a zig zag through the trees, and Arthur curses, chest tight as he gently kicks Merlin’s side and lowers his crossbow. “<em>Thanks</em> Merlin,” he snaps, pulse racing, scalp prickling. He’s not even <em>really</em> upset about the hunt--they’ll find another deer--he’s mostly just perpetually exhausted over being in love with the clumsiest man in the universe and therefore being jerked through a series of primal, sympathetic anxiety responses every time he does something stupid. He thought maybe it would get <em>better</em> after he and Merlin started sleeping together, but actually, it’s just gotten <em>worse. </em>Perhaps before he felt as if he did not hold claim over Merlin’s body, but now that he does, he’s ten times as likely to want to <em>protect </em>it with a fierce and foolish preoccupation. </p><p>When Merlin rolls over, he has leaves in his hair, pale orange against the inky black. The sight does nothing to slow Arthur’s heart. “Sorry,” Merlin says sheepishly, holding up his hands and looking at them. There are little bits of bark and dirt and rock embedded in his palms, plus a nasty looking scrape weeping lymph on the heel of his hand. “Ugh,” he adds. </p><p>Arthur cannot stand it. He drops his crossbow and crouches over Merlin, Straddling his hips and taking his hands in his own to examine. “I hate you,” he murmurs as he brushes grit from those pale, bleeding palms. “I wish you’d learn to be careful. My heart can’t take all this tripping and dragon-riding and spell-casting and whatnot. I liked it better when I thought you were a coward. Now I have to worry about you <em>killing</em> yourself doing reckless magical things to save me.” </p><p>Merlin studies Arthur, mouth soft and trembling around a complacent smile he is clearly trying to stop from overtaking his face. He acts very <em>smug</em> when Arthur reveals how much he cares for him, and it always twists low in Arthur’s gut, spearing him on dual blades of fear and insecurity. He never planned on loving something so much as he loves Merlin, and it’s the sort of thing that flays him open, shows his insides. “M’more capable than I look.” Merlin argues, tilting his head as Arthur unties his neckerchief with prudent fingers. “Just. Not terribly coordinated.” </p><p>“You’re a bloody fucking wreck,” Arthur scolds, sucking the corner of the rough fabric into his mouth, noticing with a flutter of his heart that it is still warm from Merlin’s skin, that it smells like him, soap and herbs and horses. Once it’s wet, he carefully uses it to dab Merlin’s scrapes. </p><p>It makes Merlin quiet to behold, which at least is a small blessing. “Gaius would have your head for using your spit to clean a wound, ” he says, but his voice is soft and wobbly, free of any real judgement.</p><p>“Well. I’ll have<em> Gaius’s</em> head for not teaching his sodding assistant to walk around the woods without tripping and falling flat on his face, which happens to be his only redeemable feature,” Arthur counters. Once  he’s rid of all the dirt, he brings Merlin’s hands to his lips and kisses them, brushing his mouth over the torn skin first tenderly, and then with fraying grace as a building tension tightens his jaw, makes him hungry, overwhelmed. He just. He wants Merlin safe so badly he suffers the urge to <em>hurt</em> him, hold him so tightly all his bones break, crush him like a butterfly beneath a plane of preservative glass. It doesn’t make any sense, but it is how he feels. “Please stop hurting yourself,” he murmurs into the cradle of his bruised palms, tongue sweeping between Merlin’s thumb and forefinger before he fixes his mouth on the loose skin there to suck the metallic bite of blood. Merlin gasps, tensing, and Arthur feels his blood pick up in his wrists beneath the dig of his own thumbs. “I have enough to worry about as king.” </p><p>Then he pulls away, curling Merlin’s fingers towards the lines through his palm and pressing a last lingering kiss to his raw knuckles, their eyes locked and wavering. “I shall try my hardest, then,” Merlin says.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags: established relationship, fluff, reuniting after being parted, scent kink, beard!merlin, future fic, Albion, round table sex</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Merlin’s week’s long negotiations with the Druids go so well, he returns to Camelot several days early. Arthur is not expecting him, so it is a surprise when he pushes the doors to the throne room open and interrupts what looks like an important meeting with the royal advisors. But as their eyes lock across the echoing hall, it’s as if everything else disappears: Arthur visibly swallows, cheeks flushing, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. </p><p>“Merlin,” he says, standing. He looks terribly proper right now—his crown resting atop clean golden hair,  his long crimson cape sweeping the ground as he strides across the room to loop his arms around Merlin’s body and crush him in an achingly tight embrace, so firmly his breath is stolen.</p><p>Merlin knows it goes on too long, but he cannot pull away. Arthur’s arms are so strong around his back, the smell of him spicy and familiar and long-yearned for, so he sucks it in on shuddering inhalations, face pressed to the top of his head so Arthur’s crown bites into his cheek as he hides his face in the ditch of Merlin’s neck. They do not part until someone coughs, shifting uncomfortably. </p><p>Arthur remembers himself and stands, squaring his shoulders without turning away from Merlin or letting go of his forearms, which he clasps in hungry palms. “Gentleman,” he says. “You are all dismissed. We shall reconvene to discuss matters tomorrow, same time. Thank you.” </p><p>There is an air of relief about the advisors as they nod, bow, and shuffle out, but Merlin cannot be bothered to bid them any sort of formal goodbye. All he can do is look at Arthur,  holding him fast there in the castle, thumbing into the ditches of his elbows where anyone could see, if they dared look. Merlin thinks most people choose to turn away from them, though. Arthur is a good King and Gwen is a better Queen, and people are so grateful and satisfied by all they’ve done for Camelot that they do not question what else might happen behind closed doors, and with whom. </p><p>As soon as they’ve all left Arthur kisses him, cupping his face between his hands and licking into his mouth, deep and hungry. “I missed you,” he murmurs against Merlin’s lips, working his hands up beneath his tunic and spreading them over his stomach, his lower back, his scapulae. “I missed your <em>skin.” </em></p><p><em>“</em>And I, yours,” Merlin promises, thumbing up Arthur’s throat nipping at his mouth, dizzy with how badly he’s needed this, how much it aches to be parted, even temporarily.. “Negotiations are settled. The Druids agree to the terms and would be honored to assist in-”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, <em>Merlin,</em> save the business for later,” Arthur mumbles between kisses, steering him across the room and backing him up against the round table so it cuts into the backs of Merlin’s thighs. “Just let me look at you.” </p><p>Merlin allows it, eyes fluttering closed as Arthur studies him, turning his chin left and right and thumbing over the dark hair that’s grown along his jaw in his absence. “This is very handsome,” he murmurs, threading fingers into his beard and tugging a bit. “Quite rugged.” </p><p>“I hate it,” Merlin snorts, tilting into Arthur’s touch all the same. “Cannot wait to have a proper shave.” </p><p>“M’afraid I can’t let you just yet,” Arthur tells him, cocking his head and taking his crown off to set it down on the table with a clatter. Then he hauls Merlin up and lays him out beside it, hands all over his chest, pushing greedily beneath his tunic. “Because as it turns out, I need you this very second.”</p><p>“I’m dirty,” Merlin warns, mussing up Arthur’s hair. “I rode all day to get back to you.” </p><p>Arthur’s voice comes out muffled where it’s spread and sucking upon Merlin’s bony, heaving sternum. “Don’t care,” he says flatly, thumbing up the divots of his ribs. And then he drops to his knees between Merlin’s spread thighs, mouthing him through his pants, grip rough and possessive, sharpened from weeks of denial. Merlin gazes down at him, moved by the sight of this great king hunched on the ground, cape spread out like spilled blood around him, cock an obscene shape as it thickens in his trousers. As Arthur touches him with one hand and touches <em>himself</em> with the other, Merlin reaches for his crown, and places it delicately back upon his head to complete the image. </p><p>“You have me, Sire,” he says, using the title for old time’s sake. Arthur smiles along the inseam of his thigh at that, as if he is fondly recalling a memory. And then, his mouth is otherwise occupied. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>